


Sunflowers

by xtinct



Category: Glee
Genre: Hurt, M/M, No Comfort Yet, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicide, it's cute, there's a flower metaphor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtinct/pseuds/xtinct
Summary: this is a story about learning to thrive.
Relationships: Hunter Clarington/Original Character(s), Hunter Clarington/Sebastian Smythe
Kudos: 8





	Sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

> why is this so long? who knows. anyway, thanks for the 2 kudos even tho i literally hadn’t posted anything until like 15 hours after making the book. onto chapter warnings!  
> SO since i’m mopey, this prologue is gonna be very long and possibly very triggering to some people. main points are:  
> \- homophobia w slurs  
> \- minor character death (he’s an OC)  
> \- suicide (the actual act isn’t ‘on screen’ but the aftermath is)  
> \- psychotic episode (this one was completely modelled off of myself, so mostly auditory hallucinations, then bits of visual and tactile)  
> \- there’s also a lot of dark/self-deprecating humour but it relates to most of the stuff above. 
> 
> i usually do try to put summaries at the end of what you’d miss if these are triggers but they’re kind of integral so i don’t think this story is for you if those are triggers :( go read my autistic blaine story lmao that one’s softer.

“Sometimes I really like kissing you.” Hunter admitted, his lips barely moving against the skin beneath them.

“Sometimes you’re stupid.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, “I /do/.”

Lawrence snickered in amusement, shifting from where the pair had squashed themselves between two mesh football bags. Hunter pressed a kiss to his collarbone more eagerly then, dotting them up along his neck and jawline. “I said shut up, dummy.”

Lying back against the wooden wall of the pavilion, Lawrence grinned again. Hunter followed suit, arm slung low around his waist, playing with the waistband of his sweats.

“Hunt?”

“Lo?”

“I love you.”

“I love you t-“

Generators shuddered as the floodlights snapped to life, nearly blinding the boys. Lawrence was already on his feet, tugging Hunter up by his wrist. An airhorn sounded as they stumbled from the cabin, and Hunter just knew who it was.

"Hey Strutt! Thought we told you to stop playing fag after curfew, huh?"

Hunter would've preferred to blow his own brains out than get caught by Elijah Chase. If there was anyone at school who'd report the two of them, it was him.

Lawrence shoved Hunter forward, forcing him to run in order to catch himself before he stumbled over his own feet. So Hunter glanced back and ran, breaking into a sprint when the blaring horn got closer. Shit, he felt like he was in a raid or something. How did Eli even have a freaking horn?

"Clarington too? Well, fuck, Strutt, you're not meant to turn them into fairies!"

It was predictable. Hunter knew it was predictable, Lawrence probably knew it was predictable, Eli definitely knew it. It was just that  word , he hated it. and so he saw red.

"Listen here, asshat, you've got three seconds to put the fucking horn away and leave us alone. I don't even give a shit if you call me names, but don't you fucking act like Lo made me bent or a fag or any of your little pet names. Now go and..." It was only then Hunter realised that they had company. Namely, Dean Schafer. Still, he'd gotten himself into it already, why stop? "Go and fuck yourself and maybe if you're lucky, one day you'll actually stop hating yourself so much you'll realise you want it. How's that sound?"

"He doesn't mean it!

"Lo-"

"Shut up." The boy turned away, floodlights slanting deep blue across his cheeks. "It's not Hunter's fault he's pissed off. I'm the one who made him come out here, I forced him to, okay? Send me home already."

Three identical expressions met Lawrence's face. Hunter could see the pleading in his eyes, but he was sure all Eli and Schafer would focus on was the fact they had someone to blame. Someone who wouldn't lead to a big drop in donations if they were asked to leave the school. After a dead moment of deliberation, the dean spoke up. Hunter didn't listen. He couldn't. Not after Lo had just gotten himself into shit like that for  him ...

Eli was the one who brought him back. "Just go back to your fucking room, Clarington, Jesus Christ." He felt spittles land on his cheek when Chase scoffed at him.

He left.

* * *

Copper melted into red.

That was the last thing Hunter saw when he headed to his barracks' toilet block. The first thing was the line of boys waiting to get in, but that wasn't new. Next was the fact that not all of them had wash bags, but he solved that with a quick clear of the throat to push past the freshmen from other blocks. Then the copper.

Lawrence.

Normally Lo's skin was warm just like him. It was so full of life, radiant in its glow. The umber complexion was definitely more his mother's than his father's, but that sunniness was all Lawrence.

Which is why the cool undertones were what shocked Hunter most, rather than the fact the boy he loved was hanging from a water pipe by his dress tie. It made sense, he guessed. He'd clearly burst some blood vessels, what with it dripping from his mouth and nose. That blood kept him alive and it was what gave him his warmth.

Hunter reached out silently. He shouldn't have, not in front of half the school, but he took Lo's hand and gave it a squeeze. Cold.

"Hunter, that's so gross, dude. You don't need to check for a pulse, he snapped his fucking neck." George pointed out. He wasn't sure from where, but something vague in him knew it was at least a friend.

(Lo hadn't told. He'd lied and then killed himself for it and it was all Hunter's fault. Holy fuck, it was all his fault. Killer.)

"Right, yeah, sorry... someone go get Schaffer or call an ambulance or something. And stop fucking staring, it's a dead body, think you won't see one in war?!" he barked out, shoving past the freshman. Breakfast wasn't for another half an hour but Hunter had the sudden urge to hurl up whatever  was left inside of him.

He ditched his wash bag back on his bed, unable to bring himself to glance to where Lawrence usually slept. Four beds. That was all it was between them, four stupid bunks. If only he'd said something, Hunter could've stopped it. Maybe not even to Schaffer but to Lawrence afterwards. If he'd stayed up until the boy returned from the office, waited in his bed to pull him close, trap him there until they got up. Before everyone else, of course; they wouldn't be so stupid.

(Then again, you think they wouldn't be so stupid to get caught in the first place.)

As he lifted his head from his hands, the door opened- thank god it was just Archie. Hunter could cope with him, the blond was nervy and he already looked pale.

"Hey man, listen, don't use our toilets, there's-"

"Strutt." Hunter cut in with a sad smile. "I know. I'm gonna skip breakfast, maybe...sort his stuff, y'know."

With a few quick nods from Archie, Hunter had his plan set in stone. He counted three minutes after the boy had left before jumping to his feet and flicking the lock shut. He didn't think he could bring himself to go through Lawrence's things if he tried. He was barely 16, how was he supposed to do the job of lovers decades older? How was he supposed to do it right, do him justice?

(Murderer.)

The distraction of the morning helped slightly, but he didn't need the help. First, his own bed, closest to the door. Hunter tugged Liam's mattress from the top bunk before his own, forcing them beneath the door handle with just enough give that people outside couldn't tell. The metal frame was next, then their lockboxes, and rinse and repeat. The metal was a similar cool to Lo's hand, which was weird, right? Almost poetic.

Hunter snorted. Maybe he could move his barricade, go write a shitty sonnet in his shitty English class and claim it as a shitty coping mechanism for the shitty fact he'd killed his boyfriend. No one would even be back for ages. He could just blow his brains out during assembly. Maybe it wasn't even an assembly, maybe it was a party to say good riddance to the fags. It fit though. Lawrence went alone and so would he.

The door rattled.

"Shit." Hunter cursed beneath his breath, facing the door. "Occupied!" he called, chuckling at himself in that twisted way you only could when you were on the brink. It rattled once more then stopped at exactly the same time Hunter's attention was demanded from the window.

"Clarington, I advise you come out here immediately or there will be sanctions!"

Mr Burton was quite possibly the worst pastoral advisor in the world. Hunter scoffed. Like sanctions stopped Lawrence from killing himself.

"You killed my fucking boyfriend, what other sanctions are there?!"

In a way, he felt almost drunk. It was just... freeing to be able to say whatever the  fuck he wanted. Who was going to tell him off when he was dead? They'd drag the forklift out from the rec center or something, cart his fucked-up body off to wherever they sent kids who shot themselves and clean up the sheets while they were at it. He laughed.

"If you don't exit now, I shall have to send for the dean, Clarington! This is ridiculous behaviour, honestly."

If he was being honest, Hunter didn't really think he'd crossed the line for 'ridiculous' yet. Still, if Burton thought otherwise, it made him quite glad to flip off the teachers through the frosted glass. Especially when Schafer came walking up. He was /very/ ready to flip him off, until-

"Shoot the windows out.”

Instantly whipping his head round, Hunter’s eyes went wide.“Go away.” he ordered rather unconvincingly. He could blame his shaking on the temperature; he couldn’t blame hearing that voice on anyone else, though. Certain, he was  certain no one else was in here when he'd locked the door. There wasn't even any other way in.

'If that's Strutt in there with you and this is some practical joke, you boys will be on fatigues for the rest of the year."

That time, Hunter couldn't even stop himself from laughing. He practically guffawed, rolling his eyes at the sheer stupidity of it all. "Lawrence is fucking dead, Burton! Go check the fucking toilets, Jesus. Don't act like that when you fucking killed him."

* * *

Twenty-six (and counting) hours later, the voice and Hunter were still holding their barricade. It hadn't actually said anything since yesterday, but the teenager was convinced it was there. He'd decided that if he didn't shoot himself (or Voice didn't persuade him to), then dying through starvation didn't actually seem so bad. Clearly the other teachers believed otherwise, since they were so set on getting him out. Perhaps a boy not being fed was bad news for the academy no matter how you spun it.

“Hunter, I didn’t want to do this, but I called your parents yesterday evening and they should be here in an hour or so. How about you just open the door instead of making such a fuss about Strutt?”

Breathing quickly now, Hunter stumbled up from where he’d been perched on a mattress. They couldn’t call his dad, he’d gone to Germany. No way he’d be there for this morning, so why couldn’t the boy slow his breathing down? For a so-called spec ops officer, Schaffer was shit at negotiating.

“You don’t need to do all this, Hunter.” from over his right shoulder.

And great, now the fucking Voice was back.

“Clarington, it’s either you come out with your parents or we’ll be forced to call 911.”

His parents weren’t there. They were lying.

“Shut up shut up shut up!” he roared, forcing his head beneath one of the discarded pillows to block the clamor out. Why the fuck wasn’t it working? First off he had Schaffer supposedly on the phone to 911, and now this fucking voice telling him it wasn’t worth it. Liars. Hunter head butted the mattress with all the force he could one, twice, three times, four.

“Hunter?! That’s my son! You bastards, that’s my son!” His mom’s shrieks stabbed through the air like a knife. At least if he killed himself now, everyone in the vicinity would know his name.

A brief moment of silence. Murmurs beneath the window.

“They’re taking about you, you know.”

“Shut the /fuck/ up, Lawrence.” Hunter whipped his head up with a scathing glare, eyes darting around the room.

“Hunter, please just leave and we won’t be forced to call for outside assistance.”

“You can shut the fuck up too, Schaffer!” he bit back a sob. “Get the fucking police, I’d rather die.” Then his face was promptly returned to the mattress. Lawrence hated him crying.

Glass shattered, though he wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours later. It was pretty fucking stupid of him to not realise someone could break through the windows at the back of the barracks if they wanted, but it was stupider of the staff to not try it earlier.

“Get up, son.” That was his dad’s warm bass. He didn’t understand.

“I don’t understand.”

“Get up and get this window open for me, kid.” Robert Clarington still had a gentle smile, even when his son had basically turned the academy into Waco 2.0. It was the movement behind him that grabbed Hunter’s attention, however. A fleeting glimpse, yet Robert noticed. “No one there, short stuff. Told them I’d come in myself.”

It was then, twenty-eight hours and counting after Lo, that the panic set in. Hunter couldn’t slow his breathing if he tried, and he was trying. Each breath felt like a lifetime’s work yet all he could show for it was a weak rasp. In out in out in out in-

“It’s okay, babe. He’s good.”

Close to clawing at his throat, Hunter pulled himself up. Seven steps to the window.

“Trust me.”

Fuck, he couldn’t even tell if that one was Dad or Lawrence. Three. Two. Hunter fell against the wood, still hyperventilating but just able to push the latch off of the red window frame. Red? He was sure it wasn’t red yesterday.

“It’s blood.” Lo offered from somewhere in the corner. “Your hands, blood. You know the saying.”

And as his dad climbed through the window,Hunter plummeted to his knees. He scrubbed his hands against his pants, the wall, the floor. The blood wouldn’t leave no matter what he tried. The boy thrashed as his dad pulled him to his feet, but exhaustion caught up with that quickly. And there Hunter stayed, body trembling as he pressed into his father’s arms. He took a desperate sob as a lighter pair settled around his back too, sinking into his boy.


End file.
